


The Season of the Smallest Stars

by ShySpider



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Farming/gardening, Home Ownership, Other, Slice of Life, Stardew Valley setting, You're just trying to get by, and the frustrations that comes with it, maybe self-indulgent?, miniformers, this is just my chill fic, tinyformers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28577073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShySpider/pseuds/ShySpider
Summary: It began with a letter, and now you own a rustic house on a failing farm.How could anyone expect you to make this work all by yourself?And why doesn't anyone go near the weird, abandoned shack that once belonged to an inventor?
Comments: 29
Kudos: 56





	1. A Glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated Mature just to be safe.  
> I've been wanting to write a miniformers for a while, and while playing Stardew Valley, I've decided I would love to have a team of cute little bots help me with my farm other than those gumdrop Junimos (no offense).
> 
> Kick back and relax.

It was a long walk from the market to your home, but that was completely your fault.

You strolled through the small town, and anyone passing by would greet you warmly. Someone even shouted your name from the community flowerbed, waving with enthusiastic friendliness. A stark difference from when you first moved here where others would barely notice you and be on their way. You continued along the charming cobblestone path that followed the river. When you reached the dirt path, and the river opened to a lake, was when the grocery bags in your arms stirred.

First Aid popped his head out, pulling down the paper to look across the body of water. Far on the opposing side was the vineyard that graced these rolling hills. Autumn leaves skimmed over the rippling waters and on the air was the sweet smell of grapes. Golden cornstalks and waving fields of wheat heralded the end of a bountiful season.

You heard them before you smelled that _fresh country air_ people always raved about, and First Aid chirped at the deep bugled call of a bovine. _This_ is why you took a detour. You passed the thickets that veiled the dairy farm, and on sight, the minibot was warbling excitedly to see the cows. You slowed your steps and a few cows looked up from their languid chewing.

First Aid leaned out the bag as far as he could without toppling, and let out a low and long _beeewooooo_.

A brown cow _moo_ ed back.

The medibot trilled, waving excitedly and nearly tilting over your balanced bag of garlic. You chuckled and hummed for him to settle, and continued on. First Aid seemed to _huff_ at your admonishment, and climbed into another paper bag. More than likely, he was still glaring disapprovingly at the apples you purchased, but a few bruises wouldn’t kill you.

You leisurely made your way up the forest path that separated you from the neighboring animal farm. It opened up to a vast land of rolling hills and tall, golden, grass. There was a small pond you rounded. A few frogs jumped in, startled at your footsteps. You recalled when trash was the only thing living in those waters.

Your home crested on the horizon. It was a simple farmhouse, nothing big and fancy, and probably not even considered a _farmhouse_ by magazine standards. It had no wrap-around porch to house creaky rocking-chairs; no peaked roof with the creepy attic window where ghosts were wont to gaze from; and no winding driveway complimented with blossoming trees and a babbling brook.

It was just a simple, rustic, house on a large plot of land that was once a _farm_.

Your feet found the gravel path. Every step was accompanied with the sounds of brittle leaves and grinding stones. You passed fields of the crops you and your new friends planted. The pumpkins were ready for pies and carving, the eggplants fat on their vines, and the sunflowers bowing their farewell to autumn. You took a deep breath. Pride and the crisp, cool air filled your lungs.

You spotted Perceptor, Brainstorm, and Swerve among the cornstalks. They barely noticed you as you passed, deep into whatever they were working on. Knowing that little science-bot, Percy, you’ll probably receive a detailed report on soil amendments, crop rotations, and pest deterrents to prepare for the next planting season.

As you drew closer to your home, you caught onto the pitiful wailing trill of a small mech. Near your front door, Tailgate was trying to climb his way up the window sill. You paused, tilting your head to try and guess what made him so distraught. First Aid chirped, obviously asking what you were wondering, not that Tailgate’s digitized warble gave you any answers. 

You looked to the medibot as he pointed to an old spider web under your awning. Upon inspection, you noticed a bee was stuck, and your heart just swelled as you sighed.

“Aww, Tailgate. Is that one of ours?”

Tailgate warbled in those recognizable tones that indicated an _uh-huh_.

You set your groceries down and lifted the flightless mini-bot to the old web. “You get her, then. She won’t sting you.”

Tailgate carefully collected the honeybee and pulled off the webbing from her little body. The bee was frantic and _buzz-buzzed_. Tailgate _buzz-buzzed_ back. You brought him back down when he had the little bee safe and secure, and smiled as the bug calmed in his hold.

“You want me to take you to the hive?”

Tailgate’s chirp of affirmation was followed by First Aid’s tones of disapproval. He didn’t seem pleased to leave some of the food that _should_ be refrigerated out in the autumn sun. You ignored him while he beeped in your ear, and you carried Tailgate down the path along your property. You passed the peppermint you planted earlier this year, already sprawling across your path and turning purple for the coming season. You spotted Drift cutting a few sprigs – whether he was pruning or making you tea, you wouldn’t find out till later.

You meandered your way past your chicken coup, noting that Fortress Maximus and Red Alert were filling a hole – _an attempt_ – made by a fox or coyote looking to have a snack in the night. The security bots looked up at you, and while the largest of the two only nodded a greeting, the other scrambled to stand and salute. You laughed and waved your hand to calm him down. “At ease, Red. Thank you for keeping an eye on the chickens. Good job.”

Red Alert kicked at the dirt bashfully and resumed what he was doing.

You then crossed the open door to your barn. It looked like the entire mechanical crew was preparing your tractor for the winter. Nautica, Skids, and Chromedome were so busy, they didn’t see you pass, but your resident detective waved at you from the loft. You figured Nightbeat was looking for a way to solve your persistent mouse problem. None of the bots seemed too keen on getting a cat, seeing that they already had a fur-covered menace to deal with.

Several paces beside your barn lie a greenhouse in ruin. To repair such a thing would take time, labor, and money; all of which you were slowly accumulating more and more with the help of these little mechs. Among the rubble, Ultra Magnus was surveying the area with – and you nearly missed the _littlest_ bot – Rewind standing beside him. You knew that bulky mech was crunching numbers with your tiny archivist and almanac. You wondered if you’d have enough funds for next season to fix the greenhouse, and then you wondered what you would grow in it. You were sure Ultra Magnus had a list prepared.

Finally, you came to the area designated to your beehives. The grounds smelled sweet with lavender, nasturtium, and mums that Riptide was strangely ga-ga over. The bees were understandably busy, bulking up their winter stores double-time, but you mainly noticed the lip of the hives entrance. Whirl sat, kicking his tooth-pick bird feet leisurely. On the opposing box, standing like a sentinel, Cyclonus guarded the landing-pad entrance.

You set Tailgate beside Cyclonus, who greeted you with his usual curt nod, as his little _conjunx_ released the lone bee back in her home. You smiled and turned to Whirl. He puffed out his chest and pointed down at his feet. There, corpses of yellowjackets and various other hornets lie in pieces. First Aid let out a long and soft tone, akin to _whooaaa_.

Fall was the season the carnivorous insects would seek out things that are sweet, and things that are _meat_. These two guarded the hives well. With a parting praise that simply melted Whirl, but had no effect on Cyclonus, you made the long way back towards the house. 

You opened your door before collecting your groceries, and were immediately greeted with a cacophony of noises that sounded like a battle between an ancient dial-up router and a finicky fax machine. A flash of fur bounded by you, knocking over your bag of apples as your _roommate_ ran outside with a squealing mech in her jaws.

Behind her like screaming ducklings, Velocity and Rung were trilling at the dog that came with the house. First Aid wailed at all those apples rolling on the ground – oh _no_ , all those new bruises! God _forbid_! You stood there, sighing, watching the dog that adopted _you_ run circles around the two bots, playing keep-away with her favorite victim.

“Stop chasing her,” You called out to them, “She’s turning it into a game, just stop chasing her.”

Velocity and Rung came trotting back up to you as you set down First Aid. You waved them out of the way, and they started collecting the apples back in the bag as you approached the dog. Her great snow-shoe paws slapped the ground as she bowed, ready to dart off.

“Drop him,” You commanded firmly.

She dropped her quarry, swishing her full and fluffy tail from side to side. No guilt. No remorse. All the sweetness in the world.

“Good Girl,” You praised, and she jumped up, bouncing back and forth as you closed the distance to pick up the medic-bot. He grumbled and warbled like a struggling PC. You used your shirt to wipe him off.

Your fluffy companion ran around you for a few orbits before darting off to the chicken coup. You heard Fortress Maximus tone out a sharp command – as he was one of the few she listened to. The chunky security mech was extraordinarily good with the animals.

With Ratchet staring daggers at you, more than likely muttering all sorts of curses in his robot language, you shrugged apologetically. “She just wants to play, Ratch. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t see the innocence in it, as he was mostly the target. You ferried him back inside the house, and set him down where Velocity and First Aid looked him over for damage. Thankfully, the resident canine was gentle enough with the bots. You collected your groceries, and with the medical team trotting to keep up with their arms full of a single apple each, you entered your modest house and deposited everything on the kitchen counter.

You were greeted by the one mini-mech that demanded your attention _persistently_. Rodimus was warbling for you to lift him up, already impatiently scaling up your pant-leg like a kitten. You unmindfully scooped him up and hoisted him onto your shoulder as you weaved your way around the kitchen, avoiding the skittering bots trying to help you put food away.

Rodimus continued to speak in your ear, sounding like a toddler’s first attempt at dubstep. It was cute, how he tried to hold conversations with you, but you couldn’t understand a lick of what any of these mechs were saying. It was fine, as you have found ways to communicate, but times like these were frustrating.

“I wasn’t gone long. Anything happen?”

“⏁̶͚̽⊑̵̤̃⟒̴̬͐⍀̵̖͐⟒̷̻͗ ̶͉̓⍙̶̦̃⟟̷̤̀⋏̶̭̽ ̷̨̛⏁̴͈͠⊑̷̡͒⟒̵̠̍ ̴̝͐...” He rallied off.

“Oh.” You were clueless. “Just let the dog outside, next time.”

Rodimus tugged at your hair, beeping with his own vexation. Your answer was wrong.

You finished putting everything away, and made your way to the table where books, binders, and loose papers laid strewn about. Sitting on the table’s surface among this chaotically organized mess, was a mini-mech that rivaled Fortress Maximus and Ultra Magnus in size.

 _Megatron_.

He glanced up at you, then at Rodimus perched up on your shoulder, and returned to his paper. You pulled the receipt from your pocket and set it beside him.

“We have mulch on the way to help over-winter the garlic, but the price for delivery has gone up. Could you tell Magnus for me? It breaks my heart when he looks so disappointed.”

Megatron looked over the receipt, then pointed at the kind of mulch you bought and looked up at you, his deep, digitized warble inclined in a question that you anticipated.

“It’s a good brand. Heat-treated to kill off any larva and pests. We won’t have the infestation of vine-borers this time around.”

You answered correctly. He nodded and with a sweep of his hand, gestured to the apples you bought. You smiled, excited to share, “I want to try making apple cobbler. Remember the recipe we got in the mail? I want to try making it.”

Megatron made a few conversational beeps, then glared at Rodimus who pulled at your ear, peeping softly as if telling a secret, and pointed for you to go outside. You chuckled and stood, excusing yourself from one of those who helped you on the paperwork-end of running this farm, and let yourself back out of the house.

You stood there on your porch, Rodimus on your shoulder, taking it all in. You remembered when it was just a dirt field filled with rocks and trees and weeds. You remember clamoring through the nearby woods, searching for food and things to sell. You remember trying to hock anything and everything you could find.

Now, look how far you’ve come. It took a while to get to this point, and you had longer to go, still.

You gazed at all you accomplished, thinking on how you couldn’t have done it on your own, not without these crazy little mechs that you happened upon.

And to think how it all began with a single letter, a plucky dog, and a dilapidated shack that was once home to a crazy scientist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAILGATE! Master of Waste Disposal and...bees?


	2. Foraging in Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the beginning of your journey, the start of your new life as a budding farmer.   
> And the moment your life would change much more than you'd anticipate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know there was a mod for Stardew Valley that turns your dog into a Siberian Husky? I am LIVING for having a chaotic dog running around my farm, right now.   
> So you will, too.

Parsnips did not grow overnight.

Farming was a lot harder than you thought.

But you knew that. You knew that the moment you received the inheritance letter. To go from your life of working a regular nine-to-five to digging in the dirt and tending plants from seed to crop, you knew this was going to be a feat.

Knowing was always different from raw _experience_.

And still, you left all you knew behind for a rustic cabin on the great expanse of _Little Star_ farm. Named for having a mysteriously wonderful view of the night sky on cloudless nights, you tried your best to appreciate the sight of little glittering stars while knowing mice and spiders held regular sparring tournaments under your rickety bed frame.

_You got this_. You’ll make it work, but _parsnips did not grow overnight_. Seeds cost money – money you were currently _not_ stressing about. There was nothing to stress about, not on the beautiful countryside with its small town and charming forests. You were fine. You just had to supplement your income in other ways.

Bringing you to now: foraging for things to sell in the _charming_ Cindersap forest, _in the rain_. Your raincoat helped you stave off the cold spring downpour, so at least you were still relatively dry and warm. Your hands were a little cold, caked with mud that you wiped on sopping wet grass. Still, old habits had you brush an itch off your face, leaving splotches of mud. You were a good and proper wildling of the wood.

If your old coworkers could see you now, trudging through the woods, mud on your cheek, backpack filled with fresh flowers, horseradish, wild leeks, and onions – they would think you were _crazy_.

Maybe you were. To take on a defunct farm with plumbing that moaned like a chatty whale would be considered _daunting_. But even in this rain, surrounded by the fresh smells of greenery, earthy pines, and the flowers from your pack, you couldn’t help but feel this sense of peace. You heard in your mind: _you got this_.

You continued to trudge along, falling to your knees for a bushel of dandelions. You worked the trowel in the mud, aiming to take as much of the root as possible to keep the plant from wilting prematurely. Rain continued to pelt the pine trees that surround you, pattering on the undergrowth in a melody that had no words. You heard rustling above it all. You looked up, expecting to see the scurrying tail of a squirrel or the farewell white fluff of a rabbit.

You met the bright sky-blue eyes of a muddied beast.

Your brain tried to fit a block in a circle sized hole, taking a bit too long in deciding whether you should _run_ or not, because this animal was a _canine_. A coyote? A wolf?

You blinked several times. A _dog_.

“Ohh,” You breathed out, “Oh, hello. Hi, there.”

Like anyone else coming across a stray, you attempted to communicate with it like it was a toddler. The dog’s tail started whipping against the foliage. _Friendly_? Seemed like it.

“You lost? Do you have a collar?”

You edged closer, crouched, slowly angling your head to try and see the neck of the animal. You didn’t have to be a groomer to know the dog was in _poor_ condition. They were filthy with all kinds of forest debris woven in its fur. You also noticed the dog had something in their jaws.

“What do you have there, huh? C’mere sweetie – Oh!” You tried hard not to panic as the dog jerked their head away. Whatever they had, it was just as muddy.

You didn’t want to startle them. You coaxed them closer gently, but every time you would inch in to grab whatever was dangling from their maw, they would stay just out of reach. Irritation turned into delight as you realized they weren't shy. They were playing _keep-away_ with you.

Retaining your soft tones in the cool rain, you took a different approach. You tried petting them, scritching their ears and sides. They were so matted and caked with mud, burrs, leaves, twigs – poor thing! It broke your heart as you wondered how long they were out here, alone with their weird little toy. You finally seduced the animal with belly-rubs, finding they were a _she_ , and proceeded to snatch the toy from her lazy hold.

She instantly got to her paws and started jumping for it, bounding in circles around you, ready for you to throw it. You casually turned away, trying to get a better look at it. Under all the muck, you could make out a doll-like thing, but it was edged, blocky in some areas but streamlined in others. A robot doll? It was made of a hard material, and a little heavy – heavier than wood or plastic. Was it made of metal?

_“Burrrrww!”_

You looked at the dog, and she was in mid-bow, _burr_ ing at you in a sound that was not quite a growl, but not quite a howl. Her wagging tail assured you that she wasn’t threatening you by any means.

“You like this thing, eh?”

She danced a bit when you held it up, transfixed like you had a steak.

“Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll give it back to you,” You said, like she could understand you. You held onto the toy, and as you predicted, she followed along, bumping into your side as she tried to walk and watch her little friend in your hands. You had no idea why she was so fixated on such a weird thing.

It wasn’t very late in the day, but late enough where people started closing up shop and heading out to the tavern. You passed the animal farm, making a mental note to visit tomorrow and see what your neighbor had to say about the stray dog. Maybe she belonged to this farm?

You continued up the path north to your property, passing the weeds, rocks, trees, and logs – _all_ to your name. You continued up to your cabin, the dog following you inside without trouble, and shook out all the water from her coat. _Joy_.

“You hungry?” You asked, holding the toy out for her. You expected her to rip it from your hands, but she took it with a gentleness your fingers were grateful for.

She went off to lay with her item between her paws, and she watched you build a fire. It took you a bit, as your kindling continued to burn out before it caught your wet logs on fire, but eventually you _made fire_! You rugged Ranger, you. You swung on your cast iron pot filled with water, rice, and a few of your spring onions.

You continued to complete your end-of-the-day routine. You brought in buckets of rain water and rinsed off what you foraged, tying them up in bundles, tallying up what you were selling, and hurriedly putting them in your pick-up box to be sold elsewhere. By the time you were done, your cabin smelled of your meager dinner.

You sat at your splintery table by the light of your lanterns and fireplace, surrounded by the melody of water dripping into pails, and yet you still smiled while watching the dog scarf down the dinner you shared. You gave her a little more of what was on your plate.

The night was coming to a close, but you dragged your feet going to sleep, especially when your new roommate had her nose under your bed, tail flicking from side to side eagerly. _Something was under there_. You left her to a little mousing while you inspected the toy she had, rinsing it off in one of the many buckets of rainwater.

You didn’t have much in the way of tools, so you ended up finding a twig to help pick out the crud between the cracks. Joints started to move as you worked out the grit, finding this was looking to be more made of metal, even though there was little to no rust. You were no mechanic or tinkerer, but you weren’t _that_ clueless.

You had to switch out for a cleaner pail of water, and continued washing this strange toy. It was brightly colored with reds and yellows. The designs on certain plates made it look more like a walking rubix cube than a child’s toy. Your thumb rubbed over the plate on its little chest. Your eyes took in the symbol. Branding?

Your mind was a roadmap of questions. Maybe it was from that new super-store? Maybe it was a collector’s item? Maybe those little kids would know what this is? _Can you sell it_?

Your nail hitched on a seam, and the chest-plate lifted just a bit. You encouraged it open with a _pop_ , and its chest plate slid down, exposing a muddied mess inside. You pulled your lantern closer to get more light, submerging the toy to shake all the grime out. When you pulled it out and shook the water out, something fell back in the pail. You fished it out.

You had no idea what you held in your fingers. It was spherical in shape, a gem caged in a bronzy-gold metal. You held it up to the firelight by the little handles that surrounded the little ball in a square, and the way the light hit the center, it sparkled and reflected a rainbow of blues and pinks of all shades.

_Pretty_. Hell of a time to give up wireless-internet, because you could totally use that font of data to find out what you were looking at. You muttered to the dog that had long forgotten about you, “What _is_ this thing?”

You traded out for a new pail of clean rainwater again, this time moving close to the fireplace for better lighting. You used your trusty twig to pick out the grime and gunk from inside, and you tried to get a better look. The inside was hollowed out to fit this... was this a battery? A _power source?_ Was that was this was? Did this thing get so dirty that the connectors got corroded – like a bad battery in a remote?

You were really reaching, but you had nothing better to do on a rainy night but speculate.

Drying as much as you could on your dingy shirt, you placed the weird little orb back in the opening, and it fit loosely, like a battery that wasn’t quite snapped in place. Carefully, you pushed, feeling a little resistance.

You jumped when you heard something crack – but you didn’t break anything. It finally popped into place. Hard to imagine it just fell out while you were washing this – maybe a kid dropped it and it jostled loose. Maybe the dog had something to do with it.

There were an awful lot of _maybes_ tonight. You won’t lie. The mystery was a little fun.

Then, _commotion_.

Nails scrabbled along your wood floors as the dog chased something down, and judging by the pitched squeaks, she _caught_ something. Before you could garble out a vowel, the dog had something dark between her teeth, shaking it and releasing before it could bite her. It soared across to the other side of the cabin and plopped on the ground – still alive.

_That was a BIG rat_.

You could have jumped up on the chair. You could have screamed like all your old coworkers when they found a tiny spider in the window. You could have packed up and moved right out of the cabin and let the rat continue to take residence, because _squatter’s rights_.

You armed yourself with a broom that made better tinder than cleaning.

The rat bee-lined for your old television, hoping to squeeze its plump little body underneath. You slapped the broom down and swiped it like a hockey-puck away. Straw from the broom went scattering about.

You witnessed pack mentality at its finest. The rat went for your bed, and the dog cut it off, snapping at it but not making contact as that little thing was ready to _throw down_. You flanked the critter and ran for the door, throwing it open. The rat tried to go further in your home, but that dog continued to cut it off wherever it tried to flee, herding the rodent towards you.

You cocked that broom back and smacked that rat outside, throwing the door closed. You squealed out a victorious cheer that had the dog jumping on you to give you rat-flavored kisses. You hugged and rubbed her dingy coat, praising and cooing.

“Ohh good girl! Good-est girl! Good –"

Movement caught your eye, and your head snapped over to your fireplace. _Another one?_

The toy you left behind was alight with softly pulsing reds and whites. It was sitting up, rubbing its head like it had a wild night.

_It was sitting up_.

You edged closer, broom in your grip so tightly, you felt splinters dig in. You wanted to make a noise to call the dog’s attention as she snuffled at the door. She obviously had her own priorities, wanting to go outside to pursue her quarry.

The straw of the broom-end rattled like a shy snake as you reached to poke, or to shove this toy that suddenly _moved on its own by whatever dark forces_ into the hellish depths of your fireplace. Then, the thing looked at you. _You think_. It raised its head, little blue lights on his face – _eyes?_ – flickering as they took in its surroundings before returning to you.

It was _looking_ at you.

Then it let out a trilled screech, its arms coming up to ward off your weapon of choice, and something sparked from its little arms – _a flame_.

Your broom proved just how useful it was as it went up in flames in a _FWOOMTH!_

There was a creature that could light things on fire within your only home, which was probably just as flammable. You screamed.

The firestarter screamed.

The dog howled, not wanting to be left out.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to go super deep into a plot for this story, but as I'm playing the game I'm like, "But what if..."  
> This is supposed to be a chill fic where you get bots and they help you around the farm, but don't be surprised if I add a few SDV cutscenes and ask yourself who would stuff a bunch of hay and cookies in your mailbox.


End file.
